Through the Looking Glass
by 221b Baker Street
Summary: One-off that takes place in Season 1 immediately between Ep 3(Context is for Kings) and Ep 4(The Butcher's Knife Cares Not for the Lamb's Cry), because death waits for no one...


**Star Trek: Discovery:** _ **Through the Looking Glass**_

 ** _(_ _Set in Season 1, immediately between Ep 3(Context is for Kings) and Ep 4(The Butcher Cares Not for the Lamb's Cry), simply because I didn't realize that death waits for no one...)_**

 _"I wonder if I've been changed in the night. Was I the same when I got up this morning? I almost think I can remember feeling a little different. But if I'm not the same, the next question is 'Who in the world am I?'"_ \- Lewis Carroll, _Alice in Wonderland_

Michael Burnham sighed as the doors slid open and the wave of memory hit her like a fist.

Floor mats and dumbbells, punching bags and wooden staffs, equipment from a hundred worlds neatly lining the corners. The dim lighting, the smell of sweat and effort and bodies and powder. She shook her head. It was just a gymnasium. Every ship had one and she shouldn't have been surprised that _Discovery's_ gym was almost identical to the _Shenzhou's._ But no, the _Shenzhou_ was different. There, Georgiou had introduced her to the power and peace that was _aikido_. She, in turn, had taught her captain the basic tenets of _suus mahna._ So many hours spent sparring, training, sharing, pushing each other further and forging a bond of trust and mutual respect. Ended with one savage thrust of a Klingon blade.

Her throat tightened. What she would give to be there again, just one more time.

With a deep breath, she stepped into the room, praying Tilly would be waiting. The young cadet had been witness to her brief skirmish in the mess hall and had begged for a lesson in the Vulcan martial art. Hopeless, Burnham knew. Tilly had as much physical prowess as Tellarite. But still, she was bright and eager and endlessly, brutally persistent. A few hard smacks to the floor would put an end to that idealism and hope. Life was like that, she now knew. Life on _Discovery_ even more so.

No luck. The gym was empty and dark and she swept her eyes around the space, taking it all in. Grey walls, grey mats and grey floors – darker than the _Shenzhou_ but then again, that was true of all of _Discovery._ On the _Shenzhou_ , the mesh screens that separated the sparring courts were gold. On _Discovery_ , they were gunpowder gray. On the _Shenzhou,_ the high ceilings were bright and airy. Here, ceilings disappeared into a web of pipe and shadow. Secrets and shadow. _Discovery's_ personality. Her new world's truth.

She was Alice down a rabbit hole. _Discovery_ was as disorienting and dangerous as Wonderland.

There was a sound and she cocked her head. Smack, kick, pivot, breath. Two bodies, she deduced, sparring in the far court. Experienced, for they made no sound. No grunt or cry, no snarl or whimper. Expert fighters sparring in the dark. _Curiouser and curiouser,_ and she glanced around. No one was watching. No one dared. Secrets and shadow and locked doors and don'ts. Black alerts and black badges and black rooms begging for light. Rules meant to be broken. Rabbits meant to be followed.

Slowly, silently, she moved toward the court.

The sparring court itself was dark, darker even than the mesh and she narrowed her eyes to peer through. Two figures in hand-to-hand combat, silent and skilled, flashing like blades in the night. A man and a woman equally matched, lean and sharp and glistening with sweat. It was a dance, she realized, their heartbeat the rhythm and she leaned against the mesh, lost in the art of them. Not _aikido,_ not _suus mahna_ but something else, precise and practiced and lethal in its movements. Strike, block, swing, parry. Bare feet became swords, fists became daggers. They moved like the wind.

A lucky strike to the temple and the man staggered back, then bent forward to grip his knees. He shook his head and the court echoed softly as he laughed.

Her heart thudded in her chest.

 _Lorca._

Burnham's eyes darted to the woman, now dusting her palms and grinning, dark hair swinging at the end of the signature ponytail.

"Seeing stars?" Landry purred.

"Always."

 _Step back,_ Burnham told herself. _Slip away before they see_ but her feet did not respond, for when Lorca straightened, she could see the scars.

From the shadows, she studied his lean frame, bare from the waist up. Scars ran across his ribs, up his shoulders and along his back. From the war, it was obvious, but she knew so little else about him. _Imagination is the only weapon in the war against reality,_ Carroll once wrote, but Michael knew in her heart it wasn't true. This was a rabbit hole best not followed, for imagination was the enemy of logic. Imagination led to supposition and assumption, to sympathy, empathy then error. She would not give Lorca an inch of compassion, else she risked being swept away in his secrets and agendas.

And yet, as he began to circle the small woman before him, it made so much sense why they were sparring in the dark.

Landry pivoted as he moved, her own body clothed in only leggings and crop top, her midriff bare and corded like a cello. She too bore signs of battle, white ridges marring the otherwise flawless tone of her skin. Warriors, both of them, made hard by the war that Burnham herself had started.

"I told you those cookies would get the better of you one day," said Landry.

"I will continue," Lorca said, his voice low and hinting deep south. "Until I find an acceptable fortune."

"Make your own."

"I always do."

He lunged and she kicked, but he caught her heel and flung upwards. She went with it, her body twisting in a perfect flip, landing on her feet and sending a palm up towards his jaw. He caught her wrist and sharply, fiercely, drew her close.

Their breath, the only sound.

"You think you're invulnerable, Commander. It's a weakness."

"You're a fool," she hissed. "One day, your plans will backfire and I won't be there to pick up the pieces."

"You're still here." His blue eyes glittered like stars. "And so am I."

"You'll be the death of me."

"Likely." He relaxed his grip. "And for that, I apologize in advance."

Her foot lashed out, hooking his ankle and she dropped to the floor, taking him along with her. They crashed to the ground, a tangle of arms and legs and snakelike torsos until she sprang onto his back, straddling his ribs with her legs and locking his throat with her elbow. He pushed up savagely and rolled, pinning her beneath him and he reached back to catch her skull between his hands. She tightened her grip and he grimaced.

"Yield," she ordered.

"Never."

"I could break your neck. Yield."

"And I could break your skull."

"Not before you pass out."

And she increased the pressure, not intimidated. The tendons of his throat stood out like steel cables. His fingers clawed at her temples, tugging hair from the knot holding it in place but her hold was sure. She snarled at him.

"I say again, yield."

"Never…yield," he growled, struggling for breath. "Your enemies…will learn to…expect it."

The security chief leaned in, brought her face close to his cheek and suddenly, Burnham felt like a spy, lurking in the shadows, digging for dirt. It was not a good feeling, but one she was getting used to on this upside-down ship.

"You think an awful lot of your enemies," Landry purred.

"Someone has to."

"And what about your friends?"

"My only friend…is currently choking…me to death."

Landry eased her grip, but did not release.

"Bitch, life," and she grinned.

Lorca did the same, removing his hands from her hair and in doing so effectively yielded the match.

"You love the fight," she said.

"It is better to be feared than loved."

Through the gunmetal mesh, Burnham frowned. It was a quote but from where?

"Well," said Landry. "You'd know about that."

He gazed up at her now and smiled sadly, reached up to trace a finger down her sharp jawline.

"Changing tactics, I see," she remarked.

"A tried and true strategy," he said. "Although I doubt it's entirely unexpected at this point."

"I never know what to expect from you."

"Good."

She drew closer still.

"Tell me," said Landry. "Would your enemies expect this?"

And to Burnham's surprise, she kissed him.

"Oh, there you are!"

Burnham gasped and spun around on the smiling round face of Sylvia Tilly.

"Um, hey," said Burnham, trying to steady her racing heart.

"Sorry I was late! I'm never, _ever_ late. Honestly, never. Honestly. I really hate being late. But Lt. Stamets wanted me to run one more test on the… well, on the 'you know, the thing…Um, hmm. Right. And well…"

She released a puff of breath, a spiral of red bouncing off her forehead.

"You know what he's like when he's cranky. All cranky and grumpy and I didn't want him to be cranky or, or grumpy, 'cause he gets mean. So I stayed. Hey why, why is it so dark in here?"

Burnham flinched as the door to the sparring court slid open.

"Captain!" yelped Tilly and she snapped to attention. "Commander Landry! I'm so, so sorry! Geez, I hope we didn't disturb you!"

Landry's dark glare bore holes into her skull but Burnham stared straight ahead, hands clasped tightly behind her back.

"Not at all, Cadet," said Lorca, pulling a towel across his shoulders. "Once again, Commander Landry's sparring skills got the better of me."

His heavy-lidded eyes slid over to Burnham.

"Fortune cookies, you know. They'll be the death of you."

Burnham swallowed, nodded and did not breathe until the pair left the gym.

There was silence for a long moment.

"They're always fighting," said Tilly and she bounced a little on her heels. "Dr. Culber says one or the other always ends up in sickbay with bruises or sprains or broken things. He says they go at it pretty hard."

"I believe it," said Burnham.

And she looked down at the floor, lost in thought and memory and crystallizing wonderland.

"But they're pretty fit, I think. I'm not. Not really. I'm smart but I'm not fit. That's why we're here, right? So you can teach me the _suus mahna_ first, then once I'm really good, you can teach me the _sha'mura,_ okay? I'm sure I'll catch on quickly. I'm a quick study."

" _It is better to be feared than loved,"_ muttered Burnham.

"Oh, I know that!" yelped Tilly. "That's from _Alice in Wonderland!_ What a great book! It's so twisty and weird and dangerous. What do you think it means?"

Burnham glanced up at the cadet, her eager face and larger-than-life smile, her crazy hair and youthful optimism. Maybe there was hope after all.

 _It's no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then, Alice had said._

"Maybe we're all mad here," said Burnham with a grin.

"Cheshire cat! I love him! But that caterpillar – he's so weird! It reminds me of a story I heard about a party on Regulus IV…"

Together, they turned up the lights and headed into the sparring room.


End file.
